


South of Eden

by Greyella



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Autistic Character, Blackcest (Harry Potter), Coming Out, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, if you squint super duper hard, mentions of light drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24907006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyella/pseuds/Greyella
Summary: The Black sisters bond in the king garden of Knott House, sometime during the First Wizarding War. Autistic!Bellatrix. Cissatrix central. Pre-Blackcest if you squint. One-shot.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	South of Eden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beforeyouspeak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforeyouspeak/gifts), [intheinkpot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intheinkpot/gifts).



> This is the result of combining two Cissatrix Tumblr prompts from intheinkpot (hurt/comfort) and beforeyouspeak (thunderstorms). This drabble took on a life of its own and morphed into a one-shot. Anyone surprised by that? Me, oh, not at all.

The party was atrocious, filled to the brim with prim guests. That said, the aesthetics were well coordinated and the proper—and properly sloshed—crowd was quite at home in the gaudy manor; the perfect inhabitants for a shallow evening, where creatures waded fathoms below moral society.

The soothing scent of mead and wine flowed heavily, alongside the collective murmur of voices all too calculating and lax. Clinking glasses toasted their unveiled supremacy and laughter at the marginalized was a common thread.

Bellatrix was bored as shit on a dying lawn.

The witch had her fill of fake pleasantries and itched to smash more than a few egos. It wasn’t the lofty personalities that bothered—that was the culture—but rather her innate drive to construct a storm. She pouted at the lack of drama and took a healthy sip of her Château Rayas, lavender notes coating her tongue liberally. Curious and with idle maliciousness, Bella eyed a passerby’s neon vintage and daydreamed of poisoning fantasies.

Fuck she loved wine.

Sweat beaded the nape of her neck and she congratulated herself on her choice of dress, her arms bare except for thin straps, the black linen light and fit for the desert night. Furthermore, she chuckled mid-sip, enjoying the appalled and envious eyes, enjoying that she was free and not sausaged into a chiffon nightmare. It had been a blistering June day and remained so in the eve, the humidity seeping into every nook and cranny, every crook and fanny. The overall effect was languid, a moistened air that crept down your throat and dissolved any filter that might have existed. Cracks of summer thunder had rumbled all day and Bellatrix quite preferred heat lightning to rain.

Another sip and she savoir the ruby, this time the licorice notes trickling through.

She shrugged off another conversation, dismissing yet another Knott cousin from her presence. The men weren’t an unhandsome lot, but she wasn’t in the mood for a quick fuck. The women however…well, she did enjoy summer sights and sin. Bella’s assigned task complete, the Dark Lord wouldn’t have objected to her indulging. But honestly the heat had a lethargy she enjoyed and the witch had the nagging feeling she was needed.

Andy may have blatantly inherited great-aunt Cassie’s seer blood, but Bellatrix was touched as well. It was obnoxious and the only reason she hadn’t left two hours ago. So the lieutenant stalked the house, moving out of the grand hall and weaving through other collections of people. Her swaggering journey had all the feel of inebriated song, wine and maze, wild hair, and waiting fun. By no means was Knott House any larger than other pompous manors, but there was a sense of constructed space that made it cavernous, wide with the dark of deep wood and timeless with the past of starlight.

She moved on and around, poking in another room too full of sound.

The ballroom was in full swing with political animals, their shadow and ambition greedy for shady opportunity. Like a parlor for sinister ice cream, the color palette of the whole affair was sickly suave, faded pastels paired with gothic gowns. All in all, it was an appropriate wrapping for a pure-blooded affair. It wasn’t a dancing night, at least not the kind you’re thinking of. Had it been, Bellatrix would have gone barefoot and bared her howls. As it was, she was booted and laced up, meddle on her mind, dagger in her cleavage. The linen on her legs was refreshing but her wine was gone. She fingered her wand out of habit as she moved through the throng, stealing a watermelon ball, the fruit sweet in her mouth. Conversation continued, but she felt the ambience shift with her presence, the brown-nosers pulling at the bit, _His_ followers respecting her clout.

And in the center of this obsequience the Dark Lord raised an expectant eyebrow. Bellatrix felt his magic brush her mind and gave her silent report, hand signing a familiar gesture that roughly translated as _‘Done. Now a pull.’_

“Go away then,” he hissed, amused at her distraction. Far be it for him to meddle with the Sight.

She cackled outrageously, enjoying as his lackeys jumped at the perceived non sequitur. Fools, the lot of them. She looked up and spun twice for good measure, letting the world into her magic, letting the linen swish her legs for good texture. The candelabras charmed low like twilight, the chandelier high-strung like opium, and she felt the tingles of the room, the stimuli on the air.

No. Whatever it was, it wasn’t here.

Bellatrix left as quickly as she came, scuffing her boots on the floors and pressing her hand to the wall as she skipped. She stole a moment in a random parlor, her head out the window, her breath breathing in the nighttime allergens. A bolt of lightning flashed the sky and she counted until the thunder answered back. The smell of ozone was strong and the scent tickled her throat, making her eyes itch. But it didn’t dull the feeling…the pull.

Moreover, it was stronger this way.

Grinning, the summer-clad witch climbed out the window, only slightly crunching the flowerbed down below. Her hand twitched and the scowling flowers accepted a bit of healing magic, the nicks in their stems rendering whole. Feeling a dance coming on, Bellatrix hastened to unlace her boots, kicking them off with a satisfying thwack to the manor siding. The dark witch wiggled her feet for a good minute, wriggling grass blades between her toes. She could smell the summer earth and hoped to stain her feet black.

A sharp pain blasted her temple and Bellatrix winced. That way.

The sunset still roiled in the distant west, all fire and skin pink, but the turning earth poured navy over the moors, dim and draining of light. She strolled northeast around the back and toward the garden, lingers of lavender still on her tongue and now also in her nose. Knott House wasn’t to her taste but it had the king of all gardens, all posy and primrose, pussy willow and peonies. Bellatrix took the cobble path towards the pièce de résistance. The way was lined with plants and ponderings of every color and potion, a path worthy of a memory palace. She doubted that the Knott’s had ever used it as such. She, however, had planted a few memories in this place, come to think of it; a few complicated plants that didn’t require anything more than life.

Ah. There.

Narcissa’s silhouette was clear in the large gazebo, her form still…then swaying like the lavender field, which covered the north for at least a hectare. A breeze shuffled across the land, splitting around the house and rejoining where Bella stood. Black curls whipped her cheeks and she welcomed the wild, her nipples alive and her sense of self strong. She padded on over to her sister-witch and rested her chin on the blonde’s shoulder. Cissa kept her quiet, relieved to be alone together.

The navy swallowed the citrus sky whole, nothing left but sweet summer night and faint chirps from the garden hedgerows.

“You pulled,” Bellatrix said, after a time, stating the obvious. “So I’m here.”

“How queer,” Narcissa murmured back. “Just like Auntie.”

“Ah but with more salt,” Bella snorted in Cissa’s ear, fondly recalling their bat-shit crazy aunt. Of course neither of them faulted Cassiopeia for her eccentricity; years locked up in an attic will do that. Speech had been difficult all day for Bellatrix, but things were always more organic with Narcissa. “Why so salty tonight?” She asked gently, her usual gruffness absent.

"Why are you here,” Narcissa said coldly, shrugging off the embrace, not surprised when the witch didn’t take offense.

“It’s June. You like June,” Bellatrix reminded, stepping out from their cover. “I should be asking you why we’re skulking in the garden in the dark.” She shot a beautiful arc of magic into the sky, gleeful as it exploded silent sparks and lit the night like poppies. The thunder seemed done for now, but the ozone lingered.

“I envy you,” Narcissa whispered. “You are for you and I am for everyone else. Why can’t I be less like me,” she said rhetorically.

The witch startled as Bellatrix about-faced and apparated back to her side. The magic was beautiful and unnecessary. Nose to nose now, Bella’s face was serious and her lingering magic smoked around them, its grey billows illumed by the falling red sparks. In their own private volcano, she searched Narcissa’s face, recognizing an insidious plaque that had been building up for months, years even. Bellatrix was bemused as the witch flushed, Cissa’s cheeks darkening with emotion that she refused to name. Not for the first time, Bella sought out her sister’s demons, wanting to coax them, stoke them even. It wasn’t good for the potioneer to be so buttoned up.

Despite the wet heat, Narcissa was in long sleeves; the blue was flattering but Bella shivered a vicarious sympathy.

“We’re in the garden, darling,” Bella said softly. “Good, evil, it all grows deep and you’re sticking to the shallows.”

“I’m not going off the deep end when surrounded by this lot,” the blonde hissed, “And we are always surrounded by this lot.” Her words barbed, but her actions belied her words; eyes dipping down and refusing Bella’s coffee orbs.

“Little liar,” Bellatrix drawled, not offended in the least. “Don’t shove this off on people.” She satisfied at Cissa’s taut silence. “You never speak about…this. Whatever it is that grows.”

“It breeds and some days I can’t stand it,” Narcissa hissed violently, her head falling into Bella’s neck despite the humid heat. She shivered as the dark witch allowed her close and patted her back awkwardly.

Never one to mince words, Bellatrix poked at another elephant, taking a wild guess.

“So he’s not faithful, Cissa-dear. None of us is, certainly not me.” Bella twirled a lock of blonde hair, palming the silk and fascinated by the color, just as she had always been.

“So I’ve heard,” Cissa said wryly, her tone so very on the nose. “You may be quiet, but he certainly isn’t.”

“I won’t fuck him anymore, if it bothers you. He’s just a tool,” Bellatrix said bluntly, kissing her sister’s cheek. Cissa squeezed her hand tightly and Bella thought she was on to something. Yet the silence drew between them, she still missing the crux. “Cissa,” Bellatrix murmured, coaxing in a way only she could wield. “Just me. Neither the garden nor I will tell.”

“You plan to tell about Andy.” The blonde deflected and angrily stepped away, bracing her arms on the railing. “And you will, whether in a garden or not. You’re just waiting for the right leverage. The right time. The right political gain,” her tone was cutting and she was sweltering, angrily unbuttoning the top of her bodice.

Ah, this was an interesting turn. Bella sighed and didn’t deny. She and Andromeda were close in age and rarely parted in their early years. As the years marched on, the two diverged, making for a complicated sisterhood based on love and hate. Bella tried not to dwell on the dangers of that now, given what she knew of Andy’s…liberal approach to love.

“It’s for the best.”

“The best for whom?” Narcissa snapped at the witch. “Certainly not me or you. Certainly not Andy.”

“Watch your tone,” Bella rasped, her canines warning. Her lungs were a bit tight but she pushed out the diatribe anyway. “There is power in controlling the narrative. It’s going to come out one way or another. Would you rather I leave it to chance and leave Andy to the wolves? At least this way she can plan and at the very least…fucking pack.”

“You think a bloody suitcase is going to fix—”

“She came to me first. I knew before you voiced your suspicions.”

Cissa went wide-eyed, not having considered that possible chess move. Bellatrix had a habit of letting the world unfold, allowing others to stab themselves on their own assumptions. It was an accidental and useful skill.

“Andy is for another day,” Bellatrix promised, her wrath dissipating as quickly as it had raged. “I’m not done with you. I’m not going to run.”

The blonde didn’t have a counter and suddenly understood how Bella felt most days, as if speech was the worst possible way to communicate. So Cissa sent frantic magic at her sister, her emotion too big for words. It smelled like burnt lavender and sage, the scent that chastised and chased out demons. This was Cissa’s internalized shame, Bellatrix realized. Though the content wracked her concerned, Bella visibly relaxed and signed a soothing spell back. It tasted of cucumber and melon, like Narcissa’s favorite sorbet. Like the culmination of all afternoons spent with sticky faces in Diagon. Shaking her head slightly, Narcissa calmed, no longer smelling ash.

“I don’t care about his affairs,” Cissa whispered. “I know I’m supposed to care, but I don’t.” Her hand pressed to her heart, as if willing it to beat. “There’s just nothing here.”

“Wonderful. He’s a wanker,” Bellatrix grinned, frankly pleased beyond the shiniest Galleon.

Narcissa burst out a laugh, unexpected joy tilting off her chest. Soft light lit their space and the moonlight was coy and awake, peeking out, seeking out the earth.

“You not jealous of his lovers, dove.” Bellatrix cupped the witch’s face, gently, deciding another guess would work best now. “You crave them, crave women, for yourself.”

Narcissa’s lip trembled and Bella’s heart jumped awfully. Such a dreadful expression haunted the witch’s face, so full of repression and lonely and zipped-up lust. Bellatrix couldn’t stand the residuals that Cissa’s magic leaked and she hurt to know that the witch had lived holding all that inside, since childhood she imagined. Overcome, Bella signed a magic so fierce, that Narcissa was carried into her arms, wherein the blonde sheltered and clung.

“This isn’t Eden, this garden isn’t so binary,” Bella promised heartily, her words spilling. “You won’t be cast out. I won’t cast you out,” she continued tearfully, killing Narcissa’s boggart. “You can still be reserved.” She kissed Cissa’s forehead before directing the witch’s attention to the lavender rows…that grey organized ocean spanning out into the night. “You can be you.” She gestured to the wilding plants that led back to the manor, those gutsy little sprites, all wayward and wonderful. “It’s both of those and all the in-betweens.”

“And what of the tapestry. Andy? What of the future?” Cissa stumbled her thoughts, none of them fully formed, all of them clear. “How do I exist, how do I raise my son, when the structure doesn’t fit?”

“Structures can be built.” Bella was emphatic. “This fucking gazebo exists. You do too. Stop trying to squish yourself so small, that you can’t be seen. Hades will agree, there’s simply better fruit to be found. Eden was a knowledge-less wasteland and honestly, that snake was fucking right.” Bellatrix muttered something indiscernibly about ignorance killing bliss.

“Where does that leave me,” Narcissa said quietly, her large fondness for the dark witch filling the sky. She was so tired of this marathon and there Bella was, cursing out everyone and happily leading her to water. Exhausted, her tears rolled down Bella’s chin.

Bellatrix hugged the witch tighter and thought a moment.

“South of Eden, in the garden, with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> R & R and a happy Pride Month to you all.


End file.
